SOLO... not exactly

Duets Are Only Done Alone
episode three, conclusion
by: Ralph E. Ahseln  10/2013

        Lazy waves picked the boat up by the bow, then dropped it softly into the trough following. A kind of waltz as the water moved along the hull. That, and a slow roll side to side, was making everything in the boat move as if it were alive. Coffee and skepticism had jangled him awake now. He could reason that the movement of the vessel had caused the shoe to appear to wiggle. The tap, tap he'd seen and heard. "Well, THAT mystery is solved." he murmured. What he couldn't resolve, at least, not right then, was just how those clothes had gotten to where they were. Neatly laid out as if the body that had been in them had just melted away.

        Even the float "head" had a different look to it. He didn't know how to describe it, but it seemed more human, more feminine to him now. "I'm beginning to imagine things." he weakly said. "Am I starting to lose it?"

        The long cruise had to make him a little crazy, he guessed. It WAS lonely out there. Doing a solo sail around the world. He was bound to start doing odd things. After all, he'd been talking and singing to a pile of old clothes and some silly shoes for some time now. He HAD made up the character he called "Oriana". He told himself that it was likely he'd be making up the other stuff too. The thought of how nutty it all sounded made him smile. "What next? Little green men?". His smile changed into a loud snorting laugh. Still, he couldn't get his mind off of how the "Ori" had moved from the quarter berth to the cockpit while he'd been sleeping. It had to have happened only one way. HE... had moved it from the berth and up to the helm. He must have, while groggy with sleep. After all, he HAD slept hard for six hours. Six hours was the longest he had slept on the whole trip. Sometime during that sleep, he must have dragged all that stuff up there and set it up. He had "Sleep Walked". "That's what happened!" he shouted, to no one , except maybe to the Ori bundle still propped up behind the wheel.

        The rest of that day, he continually laughed about it. He even had a long "Chat" with The Oriana. He told "her" she had to be more careful and that she should "Say something to him", if he ever did it again. Even that made him laugh. How could a sweatshirt, some jeans, a fish net float and a pair of ugly orange tennis shoes... Say something to him? "I MUST be going nuts!" he yelled out. Then he noticed..... The Oriana had shifted its self and "corrected" the boat's course... A very tiny bit. Or was it just the wave action again? He stopped laughing.

        Days passed in their dull and listless way. The water around his boat l'altri, looked as if it had been drained from a rusty radiator. He must be passing through some kind of algae bloom. It was like sailing on a muddy Columbia River during the Spring floods. That thought of the river gave a tug of home to him. Homesick ! Lonely! He wished the trip to be over. Soon!

        Even the daily chats with the Oriana wasn't giving him the joy that it had at first. It wasn't like talking to a real person. He knew that. It was only that he was getting lonely again.

        The short visits with other boaters and other people in the ports along the way, had only made it worse. Each time he felt a loss. Always a goodbye, and then alone again. It had become so difficult for him, he bypassed places he'd planned to visit. Going to them, would be the few hours of handshakes, lies about sailing and the drinking. Those short stops had invariably left him depressed. The emotional cost was too high, so now, he only stopped at unknown isolated ports, when he had to, stocking up and leaving soon. It was what he preferred to do.

        Fiery suns of the mornings and evenings, made the world around him look like an alien planet. He was feeling the old anger and dread that had plagued him beginning the circumnavigation. A 15 knot wind on the port quarter, was moving the boat at a good rate. If it kept blowing like it was, the route he'd laid out would get him across the Indian Ocean and to Northern Australia in an acceptable time. he had about 500 nautical miles to go. After that, he planned to make passage through the Timor Sea, eventually along the top of the Coral Sea and into the Solomon's. Skirting the Solomon Islands, he would do a Rhumb line up to Hawaii, about 3000 nautical miles from there.

        Depending on the winds, trying to keep a conservative 100 nm per day, a few resupply stops along the way, and with any luck at all, he should be in Portland, Home, in 6 months. That thought cheered him up a little.

        He turned to the Oriana, all of its parts had been placed behind the wheel. He'd begun doing that as a kind of personal joke on himself. "If you WANT to steer the damned boat, then that's where you should be!" Saying that, was a good jab at his wild imagination of a few days ago. And besides, even at his lowest, he could look at those shoes and still laugh. "She" was good company for him.

        The boat move a few degrees to Port, on a slight course correction......

        The Solomon Sea had passed under the keel. Guadalcanal and the little island of Savo slipped by on the Starboard side. A few more islands and then ahead was the very big Southern Pacific Ocean. Hawaii, some 3000 nautical miles, and bearing about 045 degrees, would be the next stop. Not much to worry about except,...well, there WAS those Marshall Islands between them and Hawaii, but they were a long way away.

        He had "discussed" this with the Oriana. The weather had turned beautiful and the ocean water was clear and deep blue. His good spirits had returned and he was happy again. Even Ori had taken on a different look.

        He was imagining what she might look like if she were real. Long blond hair with soft curls at the ends , natural, of course. Electric Blue eyes with wide pupils, slightly "dewy". A perfectly oval face with high cheekbones and full lips. Not Trout lips, but not thin either. They wouldn't need thick lipstick because they were always pink-red. The Fishnet float stared back at him. The long yellow Hemp strands, the blue buttons he'd stuck on for eyes and the red bottom paint he'd used to make a red blob for lips, had taken on a reality. He "mentioned" that to the Oriana.

        l'altri corrected a few degrees to Port.

        It happened four of five days East of the Solomons. He had been chatting with the Oriana when he thought he had heard a woman's voice. Faint, but defiantly female. He couldn't understand the few words spoken, but they had ended with a sweet little giggle! Was he was going mad ? He panicked. Could someone have stowed away at the last port? Where could she have been hiding? The boat was only 42 feet long. It didn't have spaces large enough that would hold a person without him seeing them. He decided to do a full inspection of the boat. Someone had to be there, or he was losing his mind.

        In less than a half hour, he'd ransacked the boat. Every locker and drawer had been opened. He'd found nothing.. or .. NO one. By now his panic had subsided and he began to think a little more rationally. All the loneliness had "Tricked" his mind. He HAD been chatting with the Oriana and had actually asked it a question. Something about the boat. So, it was .... "natural" to think of an answer and to have it come to him from the pile of clothes he'd constructed as a woman. As, well, hadn't he been thinking of her as a Real woman? The voice he'd heard was just his imagination. He had made the voice himself. That would be like having the Ori "Fill In" the words. "Now, THAT is funny!" he chuckled. The thought of HIM imitating a female voice, one that might come from his Oriana, amused him. To make the point, he asked Ori, "How do you like the weather?". In a squeaky girl's voice he answered himself, "Fine. Maybe a bit too warm." This was hilarious. "Talk like an Oriana" instantly became fun. He had invented a NEW game to pass the hours.

        "Well, now Ori, would you mind steering a bit more Northerly?" He, in his new voice, answered," 5 degrees to Port. Is that good enough?" The young man doubled over in spasms of hysterical laughter.

        The boat corrected to a new course of 040 degrees.

        Many days and nights on the ocean and the boat was making better than the conservative 100 nautical miles a day he'd hoped. Each day and many of the nights, He had long discussions with the Oriana. The topics ranged from boat problems to his life ashore. The Oriana would answer in that falsetto voice of the young man.

        Strangely, his voice was changing. It got softer. Used hour after hour it began much more feminine. He(she) never stopped talking. They even had heated exchanges on topics ranging from politics to marriage. She(he) always seem to win the arguments with a sweet logic that must have come from deep down in the young man. After dinners, he often sang. Mostly there were songs of the sea and romance. Occasionally, a Bawdy song to "embarrass" the Oriana. It never did. He(she) would laugh in a musical way chiding him and telling him to "Be more polite."

        Each day he looked at the Oriana and saw a young woman. He couldn't see it as a pile of clothes and some clownish orange shoes anymore. He only saw it as human. The Oriana had begun to START the conversations lately. During one day, she talked continuously. He loved to hear her lilting voice. He sat for hours listening to her. And then she began singing. Some of the songs he knew, but many were tunes that he swore he had never heard before. One night when the stars had crowded out the sky, Oriana began drumming on the cockpit seat and in that sweet clear voice sang. The words were in a language he'd never heard before. She was singing in Tongues!

        He was sitting at the navigation table in the cabin below. The Ori was at its normal position behind the wheel. The young man hands shook and he had poured himself a large glass of Brandy from his "emergency" stores. He was worried. More than he'd ever been in his life before. He now realized that he had REAL mental problems. He had let his mind go so far as to invent a second person. THAT woman out there behind the wheel. He knew she wasn't real, but every time he came close to it, "SHE" took over. "SHE" controlled him and the boat. Everything he was doing was done by him pretending to be Her. He was scared, very scared. He knew that this all had been a figment of his over active and lonely mind. In the beginning, it had been a Game. It was a way to pass the time and to defeat the crushing solitude he'd felt. But now, it wasn't a game anymore. This was serious. He knew that he had to do something to get back his sanity, but what could he do? He hadn't slept well for days and he could tell that it was part of the problem. Sleep deprivation can cause hallucinations and all kinds of mental problems. Sleep is what he needed. If he just got a enough rest, he could change this horrible situation he'd invented. Sleep, but how could he? He had to do scans of the horizon. He'd seen dozens of those big fishing boats from China and Japan. Every day, one or two would speed by. Mostly in the distance, but one never knew when they would drive into his course. Day or night, they could be disaster. He had to keep watch.

        But, this Oriana thing was killing him. He HAD to rid himself of this ghost he'd created. He decided that he'd try to get as much sleep as he could and trust that the fishing boats would see his boat before crashing into it. Draining the Brandy bottle and taking a couple pills would do the trick. Before doing that, he checked the GPS to get a fix on the islands and reefs that were just ahead. He figured he could sleep for about 4 hours and still be a safe distance away from the dangers of grounding on one those reefs. Oriana agreed!

        When he woke, he was dripping with sweat and the headache was fierce. Downing a glass of water then starting a pot of coffee, he felt like he had gotten good sleep, although the hangover was payback for it. He glanced at his watch. "Oh , my god" ! He screamed. He'd slept for 10 hours! Racing to the top of the companion way, he got to the cockpit to see darkness. A quick 360 degree scan revealed no lights or vessels close by. But, Where in hell was he? Had he missed the Islands and reefs of the Marshall chain? Quickly, he opened the cover of the GPS that was installed on the Pedestal. He couldn't believe what he saw! The boat, was a few miles EAST of Butaritari and Makin Island and their reefs. His GPS had laid down a "bread crumb" trail of dots showing that earlier, the l'altri had been heading STRAIGHT into the triangle shaped group of coral reefs. Then, it had made a ..90 DEGREE starboard turn, proceeded for about 10 miles, made another 90 degree turn and continued on its straight line... heading for Hawaii! The young man knew, NOW, "She" had taken over the boat. He was lost.

        Hawaii, was behind them now. He sat in the cockpit and listened. Oriana never stopped talking. She sang constantly. Crazy songs with words he had never heard, or seldom understood. He hated the sound of her sickeningly sweet voice. It had turned cool and he sat in the cockpit dressed in his foul weather gear and storm boots, always Listening. Riding the winds and currents of the North Pacific. That constant flow to the South carried them along at a brisk pace. Portland was only a few days away. Relief? He fervently prayed that it would be. Finally down the West Coast of British Columbia and along the Washington coastline, l'altri made its way. Oriana , "She", hadn't STOPPED talking or singing. The last of the mini champagne bottle's cork "popped", some of it ran down his fingers again. Again, he tasted fuel and more. He didn't worry about washing his hands anymore. He scribbled the position and the words "Thank god it's over!". Sealed, the bottle was tossed over the side a few miles off the Columbia River Bar. It was the 30th bottle. Almost 3 years had gone by. He didn't feel victorious, he just wanted to go home.

        Over the river bar and up the nearly 100 miles of river, the boat powered on. Under the I-5 bridge and slowly pulling into the slip it had left nearly 3 years ago. Only a half dozen people met the boat. Mostly journalists from the newspaper and two TV reporters. The boat's line were tossed to the Dockside gawkers and the engine was choked off. Below, in the V berth, neatly laid out, was a set of foul weather and a set of sea boots.

        Someone with a camera flashed a photo, The TV cameraman pushed forward. Everyone in the crowd of bystanders began to chuckle. Stepping off the sailboat...... A petite, Blond with electric Blue eyes, Pouty red lips, wearing a tattered GAP sweatshirt, Jeans (a little too big) and...... Outrageously Comical, Tiny Orange KEDS .

The end?

r.ahseln
October 30, 2013

Episode 1

Episode 2